


Unspoken Lies

by tempered_rose



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Feels, GerHun, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Past Relationship(s), PruHun, Relationship(s), Unrequited, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/pseuds/tempered_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hungary has to convince herself not to remember Gilbert all the years after he's gone, especially not when she's wrapped up in the arms of his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Written, as always, for Josh. Sorry dear friend that I'm so late. Here's one of the two I promised!
> 
> There may be a sequel to this…I'm not sure. It would be from Ludwig's POV. The song I was listening to while writing it was [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoOXCBFVoQ8) and it fits, from both of their perspectives.
> 
> As always, please R&R. Concrit is welcome.

She could remember him, in those moments when the sun hadn’t quite risen all the way and the most wonderful place to be on all the planet was still in bed, underneath the plush blankets that surrounded her on the more-than comfortable bed. She would think of them together in the peaceful quiet of the dawn, when she hadn’t fully woken up yet and it was easier to remember things then, forgotten things that you could push away during the day, things you could forget when you were busy with chores and diplomacies of the waking hours. Night time was harder to forget, when her hands were more idle and she didn’t have quite as many demands on her time.

Elizabet would remember Gilbert at night, especially in the gray of morning. She would smile a little to herself while pulling the blanket closer and it was so easy to remember how it would feel when he would lean over and pull her closer, content to sleep a little longer with her beside him also. If she felt like it, it was so easy to remember how it felt in his arms and the smell of him as he was still warm with sleep. Everything then was so soft, so comfortable. It was so easy then to just lay with him, in his arms, buried in the comfort of one another’s presence.

As the sun would slowly rise and the day would begin around her, Elizabet would waken more and she would remember. Then the pain would catch her, just as the sun crossed through her window curtains for the first time all day. The golden light would strike her as she continued to rest in bed and she would feel the sharp reminder that Gilbert was gone and had been for quite a long while now. With each day the sun rose, the sharpness continued but with another pang of sadness, Elizabet realized that sharpness was beginning to dull, to become a constant ache instead of a sharp stab of hurt.

She didn’t want to forget him. She didn’t want to forget the peace of those mornings, the scent of his cologne, or the simple electricity of his mere presence. She didn’t want to forget those crimson eyes or the purest white hair she’d ever seen. She didn’t want to forget him at all, but as the days passed and everyone moved on around her, it was hard to remember him sometimes. The lines of his face had softened slightly, the hardness in his eyes had blurred, and Elizabet was so very, very afraid of losing him forever. She couldn’t allow herself to forget him like it seemed the rest of the world had, the way the other European nations had. It made her sadder than any words could describe, the thought of him being gone except for a few pages and paragraphs in textbooks. He was so much bigger than that, so full of life. He had been truly awesome when he had gone, when he had died.

Elizabet swallowed the sob that threatened to escape from her but she couldn’t mute the sound completely. Instead it came out as a strangled gasp, and she felt the wetness in her eyes behind her eyelids. If she opened her eyes, she knew a few tears would escape. Thickness settled in her throat and she felt the tears starting to come. She didn’t want to cry today, nor any other day, but it was harder. It was getting nearer to that day in February—many years after the fact, of course—when he had gone. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to him. The wall was up by then and she couldn’t get around it to tell him anything— _I love you, I hate you, be careful, goodbye, hello_ —nothing, at all.

A strong arm wrapped around her then and Elizabet almost startled, thinking a ghost had come for her then, but she let herself relax. There was only one possible person it could be and she recognized his scent also, even if she had any doubts that a stranger had somehow managed to find her way to her—their—bedroom. The Hungarian let herself be pulled into the broad, muscular chest of the German and she let her hand rest on where his arm had come to settle around her waist.

She didn’t push him off, though, nor did she try and get out of his hold. This was her life now; she had chosen him, Ludwig, instead of the loneliness of mourning. She had tried, rather convincingly she thought, to love him the way he deserved. He was a flawed man, she was a flawed woman, so didn’t that mean that they fit together better than two smooth pieces? Their jagged edges could catch on one another and latch them together better than two flawless planes could rub against one another, gliding over one another without anything to hold on to.

Despite his flaws, Ludwig was respectful, polite, decent and courteous to a fault. He was a true gentleman. He tried to say the right things at all the right times, or he would say nothing at all. He was diligent, dutiful, and he didn’t appear to be flashy or be something he wasn’t. He was just…Ludwig. Elizabet loved him for that; she loved how safe he made her feel, how… _comfortable_.

She had ignored for so long the fact of who he was because she felt like she was betraying, not only herself or Ludwig, but also Gilbert also. It was wrong, on so many levels, to be so attached and so tangled together with the brother of your former lover, of your former _dead_ lover, but perhaps it wasn’t so strange after all. How many widows had remarried a relative of their husband’s during war? How many, surely it had to be more than one or two.

But this wasn’t war time. She had made a choice, and she had chosen still in the house of Germany. Ludwig was better than a lifetime of solitude remembering things that she wanted to feel again, a lifetime of ghosts of what could have been and should have been. Ludwig was better than all of that sadness, and yet she didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve to be hurting him the way he willingly let her, for surely he knew, he had to have known, how she still felt about his brother?

They hadn’t mentioned him much. Occasionally he would come up, but the memories of him would bring a little bit of laughter, a few tears, but mostly the deep unsettling hole of disappointment that he was no longer around. He was gone; they had to accept it. Ludwig appeared to have done so, but Elizabet wondered if she ever would. How could you forget one you had loved so much for so long? How could you forget the one person that always brought a spark to your life when you needed it? How could you forget the person who brought you such pleasure, such simple delight in the way they spoke or the way they looked at you? How did you forget the one person you considered your soulmate?

It was not possible to forget him.

“Good morning,” Ludwig’s sleepy voice came into her senses and Elizabet reactively tightened her hold on his arm. She had to remind herself to let him go, act as if it was a squeeze not a desperate cling to the hope that he had suddenly changed into his slightly smaller, older brother.

“Morning,” she replied quietly, distantly.

“What would you like for breakfast?” He asked before he kissed the small part of skin that the nightgown hadn’t covered near her shoulder. She shivered a little at the feeling of his lips on her body.

“I don’t mind, whatever you want to make is fine.” She shrugged a little and shifted in his arms to press her body against his chest and tuck her head under his chin. Without questioning why she was being particularly clingy today, Ludwig tightened his grip around her and held her close.

He likely would want to get up soon and go about his day; he wasn’t one for long lie-ins, but sometimes he could be coaxed. She had taught him that it was okay to occasionally take a day of rest for yourself; you didn’t always have to be adhering to a schedule for a fear of mistake or reprimand, it was okay to skip along a path between the raindrops.

Neither of them moved for a good long while and Elizabet wondered what he was thinking about, if anything. Perhaps he had a peaceful mind and could be just content enough to hold his lover against his chest and not have to worry about anything else. Elizabet envied Ludwig for that; her mind would not rest, it seemed.

A small sigh escaped her lips and she pressed her lips against Ludwig’s neck. He gave her another squeeze and shifted so that his lips caressed her forehead. He wasn’t as romantic as Gilbert had been; he made many fewer gestures of affection, hardly any dramatic displays of his emotions. Perhaps it was for the best. Elizabet didn’t know what she would do if Ludwig had turned into a clone of his brother. That truly would have broken her heart and made her feel tenfold guiltier than she already did for using him this way.

One day he would get tired of her lies, her pretending and she would be left alone again. She knew it. It couldn’t possibly last this thing that they had between them; all the lies, the broken promises, the tearful wishing he was his brother. It could never last. Elizabet should break it off, should go back home to Hungary and find a way to deal with her loss on her own. She didn’t need a man, another nation, to support her in her grief. She was a strong woman in her own right. She could stand on her own, she had before. Now, she didn’t want to. She was comfortable here, with Ludwig.

“I love you, Elizabet.” He spoke softly and Elizabet closed her eyes. She wondered if she suppressed the wince she felt.

“I love you too, Ludwig.” It wasn’t a lie, not a complete one anyway.

She just wondered when he would get tired of hearing only a half-truth instead of an honest answer. She wondered when he would tire of her and find someone who loved him the way he deserved.

She wondered when he would turn his back on her for good.


End file.
